


How to Woo A Veela in Five Simple Steps (Or How Bill Weasley Met His Match)

by leigh_adams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: bill_ficathon, Competition, Desire, F/M, French Characters, Humor, Jealousy, Love Triangle, Office Romance, Veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bored Bill Weasley is never fun for anyone.  Luckily, Gringotts’ newest employee provides an interesting distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Woo A Veela in Five Simple Steps (Or How Bill Weasley Met His Match)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2011 bill_ficathon on LJ. Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta! For non-French speakers, hover your cursor over the French italicized phrases to see the English translation.

**Step One: Acquire one Veela (Male or female, depending on personal preference)**

Bill Weasley was _bored_.

Since returning to England, he had done nothing at work but sign papers and wish the hours away while constructing a castle out of Exploding Snap cards. After years working under the Egyptian sun, he was accustomed to adventure, intrigue, fair Arabic damsels, and the possibility of death or other dastardly things on a near-hourly basis. Lately, the closest he'd come to death was contemplating drowning himself in his cup of Earl Grey during the Monday morning staff meetings.

 _"And please remember that it is against Gringotts policy for employees to take office supplies for personal use..."_

He shuddered at the memory and shoved his freshly requisitioned box of Gringotts quills into his desk. No wonder the goblins were constantly in such sour moods.

The point was, he had only been home for two months, and already he'd grown tired of his nine-to-five desk job. He knew it was for the best, and he'd gladly sacrifice personal happiness for the welfare of his family, but _still_. He was a curse breaker, not a pencil-pusher. There were only so many memos he could read--memos about expeditions _he_ should be on before he went stir-crazy.

And as Molly Weasley could attest, a stir-crazed Bill was _not_ fun for anyone.

 _It wasn't as if he could amuse himself with his coworkers. Bankers were notoriously dry, and the goblins weren't the friendliest of creatures. Bill hadn't taken the position at Gringotts because he enjoyed long discussions on the strength of the Galleon versus the Japanese yen, but those sorts of topics seemed to be _all_ his colleagues talked about. _

Well, that and Fleur Delacour.

She'd caused quite a stir at the bank when she'd arrived, fresh out of Beauxbatons. For one, the median age of female employees at Gringotts was forty-three, so it went without saying that new blood was _desperately_ needed. And secondly… most finance workers didn't look like _that_.

Perhaps it was her Veela heritage—most women, regardless of how attractive, didn't entice men to fall out of their seats when they walked by—or it could have been the fact that she had a body straight from the pages of _Playwizard_. But whatever it was, it made him take note. Fleur Delacour was haughty, aloof, and bloody _gorgeous_. She carried herself with an air of superiority, as if she was a goddess bestowing her favors on the mere mortals she worked with, and she obviously took pleasure in the adoring gazes of her male colleagues.

 _But most of all, she was something _new_._

Now, Bill was no novice when it came to women, and he'd heard no complaints on his prowess. He was a handsome man, with his rugged physique, long red hair, and-- with the help of his fang earring-- the perpetual sense of _danger_ that hung about his person. While he wasn't one to brag (usually), women came to _him_ , not the other way around.

Fleur had yet to even glance his way.

The _tap tap_ of high heels echoed through the International Finance department, catching his attention. Bill glanced up just in time to see her breeze by. He caught a whiff of some girly fragrance she left in her wake, and his lips curled.

It seemed he'd finally found something interesting.

 

 **Step Two: Know Thy Enemy**

"I know you didn't get that from the employee personnel files."

Bill didn't bother to glance up from his reading, flipping two fingers at the familiar figure hovering in his door. "Can't let Fred and George think they were the first in the family to invent being sneaky," he said by way of greeting. "Didn't know you were coming in."

"Got leave. Thought I'd come home and surprise Mum for her birthday," Charlie said, shutting the door behind him. He dropped down into the chair opposite Bill's desk and leaned back, propping his boots up on the cluttered surface. His craggy face broke into a grin, and he reached out to swipe a sheet of paper off his elder brother's desk. "Fleur Delacour, huh? Isn't that the bird from the Triwizard Tournament last year?"

With an eye roll, Bill lurched across the desk and snatched the paper back from Charlie. "And if she is?"

Charlie couldn’t help but snicker. "Testy, are we?" he asked, smirking when his brother arched a brow at him. "Just curious as to why you've resorted to snooping through her personal file. That's not your usual ploy to get a girl into bed."

Glancing up at his younger brother, Bill put on a faux-affronted expression and pressed his hand to his hear. "Why Charles, it hurts you think so little of me. Is that really what you think, that I'm stooping to such measures to get into Fleur's knickers?"

"You said it."

"Ponce. Go sodomize a dragon."

"Mate, that's not my brand of kink. What would Mum say if she heard you talking like that?"

Bill smirked. "Probably that you need to find a nice girl, settle down, and stop getting so many tattoos. " He glanced back down at the file in his hands. _Middle name: Isabelle._

"Yeah, well, she'd say you need a haircut," Charlie said, pushing out of his chair. "Pub later?"

"When I get done, yeah. Around six?"

"At the Leaky," the shorter man finished. Shooting his brother a two-fingered salute, he turned to open the door, revealing the object of their ruminations standing there, her arms full of papers. "Hello there, love."

Bill glanced up, his eyes widening minutely when he saw Fleur. Hurriedly, he shoved the personnel file beneath a stack of papers, _praying_ that she hadn't seen it.

"Miss Delacour," he said, his tone forcibly light. "What can I do for you?"

She swept into his office with a little look—Bill thought he saw her nose crinkle—at Charlie and set the armful of papers down on his desk. "Monsieur Jones needs you to sign zees forms for ze team in 'Onduras," she said. "'E said to send 'im a memo eef you 'ave any questions."

He gave a perfunctory nod. "Alright. Thank you, Miss Delacour."

Returning his nod, she exited the office just as she'd arrived—in a whirl of long blonde hair and designer robes, leaving a trail of her perfume in her wake.

" _Thank you, Miss Delacour_ ," Charlie parroted with a smirk, unable to contain his amusement. "Very smooth, Bill. I'm sure you'll have won her over within the week if you keep that up."

"Fuck. Off."

 

 **Step Three: Eliminate the Competition**

During his fifth year, Professor McGonagall had said that she thought he'd make a good Auror after finishing at Hogwarts. He had top marks in all the required subjects, and he had a keen knack for observation that she knew could be put to better use than tracking girls. Ministry life had never held any appeal for Bill, but his years in Egypt hadn't dulled his powers of perception.

So, he watched Fleur, and in watching, he learned a lot about her.

Her English was good, but she retained a light French accent. He'd never thought the sound of phlegm rolling about someone's throat could sound so appealing, but it worked for her. She also spoke German—though that was something he'd gleaned from her file rather than through personal experience.

It had taken a trip to Harvey Nichols, but he'd finally figured out what type of perfume she wore. Under the guise of holiday shopping, he'd taken his sister into London and 'encouraged' her to test the various bottles of perfume. He'd been able to instantly identify Fleur's as soon as the scent hit his nostrils-- _Insolence_ by Guerlain.

 _Luckily, Ginny hadn't noticed his strange behavior, and he'd paid her off with a bottle of _Coco Mademoiselle_ in return for her silence._

Bill was starting to go insane. This wasn't how he operated; he was smooth, charming, and witty. He had the dangerous appeal while still being the kind of man a girl wanted to take home to meet her parents. Reading files, taking note of how she took her coffee, watching her as she moved around the office—that wasn't Bill Weasley.

It was high time to do something about it.

He made it a point to stop and speak to her every day. They weren't particularly long or meaningful conversations, but he wanted to build the foundations of _something_ instead of creepily asking her out to dinner just out of the blue.

After all, he _did_ have a reputation to think of.

Once, he even brought her coffee. The surprised—and pleased—look in her light blue eyes had made him feel quite smug. At least, it had until he'd noticed to bloke coming by the office every few days.

He didn't know him, but a little bit of office gossip told him that Fleur spent a fair amount of time with Roger Davies, a reserve Chaser for the Appleby Arrows. He was tall, handsome in a 'golden boy' sort of way, and he wore a completely vapid look in his eyes.

Twice a week—every Tuesday and Thursday, _not_ that Bill was keeping tabs or anything—he arrived at Gringotts with a bag of carefully packaged take-away. Fleur would disappear with him, and they would reappear precisely thirty minutes later. As he escorted her back to his desk, Bill would watch him, and the look on his face clearly said he had no idea how he'd gotten so lucky as to have the most beautiful woman in London on his arm.

 _Never had Bill disliked the Arrows so much in his entire life._

 _One rainy Thursday, Bill waited until the office had nearly cleared out before he went over to speak to her. It was nearly closing time, but Fleur still sat at her desk, scribbling away at supply orders for the curse breakers out in the field. Ignoring the pang of longing he felt at the memory of Egypt, he pushed it aside and cleared his throat._

 _She glanced up, startled. "Monsieur Weasley-"_

 _"Bill," he interrupted her, quirking a red brow at her as his lips twitched. "Remember?"_

 _Fleur lifted her shoulder in a small Gallic shrug. " _Pardonnez-moi_. Bill. Did you need somezing?"_

"No," he said smoothly, giving her a winning smile. "Just thought I'd pop round and say hello."

"I do not believe you."

Bill's brow rose even higher. "Oh? And why not?"

"Because," she said, turning around to face him, "you are not ze type of person to do somezing 'just because.' You 'ave somezing you wish to say, _non?_ "

"Has anyone ever told you that you're quite direct?" he asked, ignoring her question. Dammit, she'd seen straight through him. _Thank Merlin Charlie's not here_.

She gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. "Bah, zat ees not of import. What can I 'elp you with, Bill?"

"Davies doesn't deserve you," he blurted out.

Immediately, he had to resist the urge to smack himself. _Smooth, Weasley, smooth._ Somewhere in the world, Mae Finnigan-- first shag, sixth year in the empty Transfiguration classroom-- was laughing at him. Apparently, his charm and wit dissolved when presented with a pretty—no, stunning—woman.

Her white-blonde brows rose in surprise. " _Ah bon? Et pourquoi pas?"_

French wasn't his best foreign language—that was Arabic—but he knew enough to understand her. "Because he's a ponce who doesn't have enough brains to get in out of the rain, that's why."

"Do you even know 'im?"

"Well, no," he started, but she cut him off.

"Zen why are you saying zis?" she asked, blue eyes flashing in challenge.

Bill couldn't help but admire the way her eyes fired and her cheeks flushed. He liked that spark she had, and not for the first time did he wonder just what else he could do to make her react in such a pleasant manner.

"Because," he replied simply, shrugging his shoulders. "He just isn't."

"Zat ees not a reason." Rising from her seat, Fleur summoned her blue scarf and peacoat, tying the former around her neck before slipping into the latter. " _Bonne nuit, Bill."_

"Wait." He reached out for her, long fingers encircling her slim wrist. "Have dinner with me."

The look she gave him was imperious, her blue gaze flickering down to the hold he had on her, then back up to his face. "Zis could be seen as sexual 'arrassment," she commented idly. "Besides zat, why should I 'ave dinner with you?"

He released his hold on her but didn't back away. "Because you want to," he replied, giving her a small, smug smirk. "And because I provide for more titillating conversation than your Quidditch boy."

Fleur pursed her lips, but he could have sworn he saw the corners tilt upwards. " _D'accord._ One dinner, and you 'ave to convince me why eet was a good idea."

"Oh really?"

She nodded and gave him a smug smirk in return. " _Vraiment._ Friday night, zen. Eight o'clock?" Reaching down, she scribbled the Apparition coordinates to her flat on a spare scarp of parchment and handed it to him, blue eyes alight with mirth. "Do not be late."

 

 **Step Four: Seduce Your Target**

Dinner had passed much too quickly for Bill's taste.

It had felt like the three days between asking Fleur out and their actual date had dragged on, and then when Friday evening had _finally_ arrived, time seemed to suddenly speed up so that dinner was over before it felt like it'd begun. After hours of deciding where to take her for dinner—literally, hours. British food was subpar in all ways to French cuisine, but he didn't want it to feel like he _was_ trying to impress her—he'd finally decided upon a small Thai restaurant near Covent Garden.

Two hours simply wasn't enough time with her. There was much more to Fleur Delacour than met the eye, and he felt as if their conversation had only scratched the surface. She had a sister, Gabrielle, enjoyed fencing, and was an accomplished duelist. She was also free with her opinions, mostly about English food and weather (both terrible).

When she talked about her _real_ passion—fashion—he found himself genuinely listening. Bill had never given a whit about fashion in his entire life, preferring the utilitarian sort of clothing made necessary by life in the rough and tumble, but listening to her speak on designers and materials showed a deeper glimpse of the woman beneath the shiny veneer.

And she was as good at listening as she was talking about herself. She had pressed him on his time in Egypt, and they'd discussed at length the various tombs he'd explored—the royals that had once been housed there, the various hieroglyphs, and the gods and goddesses of ancient Egypt. Fleur had listened with rapt attention as he told her about the most exciting dig—a trip into a previously-unopened tomb, thought to house the lost remains of Queen Meritaten.

She gasped in all the appropriate places, and while he recounted a particularly vile curse guarded the royal sarcophagus, she even reached out and covered his hand with her own.

But all good things must come to an end, and so their dinner had drawn to a reluctant close. The wind was cool outside in the streets, encouraging her to slip her hand through his offered arm as he escorted her back home.

"I had fun tonight," he offered as they meandered through the streets towards Soho, glancing down at the top of her blonde head.

Fleur smiled and tipped her face up to meet his gaze. " _Moi aussi,"_ she said. "Per'aps we can do eet again sometime?"

Bill tried to hide his pleasure at her suggestion, but he was unable to keep his lips from curling upwards. "Really?"

She nodded, blue eyes coy. " _Oui_. I am needing 'elp with my Eenglish, you see, and I think zat you would be a good teacher, _non_?"

"Love, I was Head Boy," he informed her loftily. "I think I'm more than capable of offering my expertise in the English language."

" _Et le modeste aussi,"_ she commented with a twitch of her lips.

"To a fault."

Fleur laughed, and the sound was like the tinkling of bells echoing across the street. It warmed Bill, turning his smug smirk into a smile of genuine pleasure. All things considered, the evening had turned out quite well indeed.

Stopping underneath a street lamp, Bill tugged her closer and reached out to cup her face. Without waiting for a reaction, he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, chaste kiss.

After a moment, he pulled back and smirked. "So. Still thinking about reporting me for sexual harassment?"

"Per'aps," she breathed, eyes fluttering open to peer at him in the small space between them. "But eef you do zat again, I theenk I will not."

"Brill," he whispered, closing the gap between them once more.

 

 **Step Five: Be prepared for anything (after all, Veela aren't known for their predictability)**

The early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the bedroom, illuminating Bill's bare chest. As he rolled over and stirred into wakefulness, he tensed. This wasn't his room. For one, it was far too light and feminine, the sheets were too soft, and his pillows _definitely_ did not smell like lavender.

And then he opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of pale skin.  
 _Fleur_.

His lips curled upwards in a smirk as he recalled the activities of the night before. _Sexual harassment, indeed_. His gentlemanly intentions had flown out the window when he'd escorted her to her front door, and he'd needed no further encouragement after she'd invited him for a 'drink.'

Unable to help himself, he reached out and traced his fingertips along the smooth expanse of skin, the pads of his fingers dancing down to the small of her back. It was just as soft and pleasant to touch as the first time, he noted, and he felt himself stir beneath the sheet as he watched gooseflesh rise beneath his hand.

She shifted and rolled over to face him, long blonde lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes. "Mmmm, _bonjour_ ," she murmured, moving closer to press the length of her body against his.

"Good morning," he replied huskily, the hand on her back sliding around to cup her bare arse. "Sleep well?"

" _Mais non_ ," she replied with a little pout. "Zere was someone who kept me up all ze night. I 'ardly slept at all."

Bill chuckled and tilted his head down to brush his lips over hers. "Who is this dastardly fellow? I'll have a word with him."

“Mmm, you should. Eef I am late to work because of ‘im, zen my supervisor will be most displeased.”

His arms banded around her waist and pulled her on top of him, her long hair cascading down to form a curtain around their faces. Lovely at any time, she was _perfect_ like this: inhibitions lost, free, and completely naked. His hand traced up the column of her throat to cup her cheek. “Shall I have a word with him too, love?”

With a soft laugh, Fleur leaned down and pressed her lips to his. “Eef you like, but I do not theenk Monsieur Jones would like to know ze details, _non?_ ”

“Probably not,” Bill muttered against her lips as the fingers of one hand slid through her silky locks. “Wanker would probably try to have me fired.”

“And zen what would I do every day eef I could not admire you?” Her blue eyes were twinkling as she pulled back to fix him with a look. “Eet would be so boring in ze office.”

“What are you on about?” he asked, quirking a brow. “You haven’t been admiring me. I’ve been admiring _you_.”

 _Fleur laughed and rolled to the side, swinging her legs off the bed so she could stand. “Really, _chéri_ , you are not very observant.”_

“But what about Davies?” he blurted out, sitting up. “You’ve been going on lunch dates with him for weeks.”

She shrugged, hands on her hips. “Roger ees just a friend, nothing more. ‘E knows zat. And eef ‘aving lunch with ‘im made you jealous...”

Bill was dumbfounded. All this time, he’d been so sure that she was indifferent to him. He’d felt like a complete fool, trying to win her attentions, and he’d gone through embarrassing lengths to ensure he was at the right place at the right time, and she’d been _playing_ him.

“I don’t follow.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Really, Bill, eet ees not zat ‘ard to compre’end. I noticed you at ze Tournament last year. I thought you were ‘andsome, but you did not look at me. _Everyone_ looks at me.” She gave him a significant look, one that said that her reasoning should have been obvious. “I took ze job at ze bank so I could get to know you, not because I enjoy finance.  Pas de tout. What does eet matter now?”

He blinked, opening his mouth to reply before he closed it again. “Then why the bloody hell didn’t you say anything earlier?” They could have been doing this _ages_ ago!

 _She laughed. “But where is ze fun in zat?”_

 _As she turned to move into the bathroom, he could only stare blankly at her back. Fleur... set-up... wanted him... had for _months_..._

“Where are you going?”

With a coy smile, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “To ze shower. Are you coming?”

Using the speed and agility honed from years of Quidditch and trekking through dusty tombs, Bill flipped out of the bed and crossed to sweep her into his arms. A wave of his wand had the shower running, and he bent to press his lips against hers.

“Not yet,” he murmured, lips curling in a wicked smirk, “but I will be. And so will you.”


End file.
